


This Land From Where We Are

by littlehollyleaf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Purgatory, Angst, Drama, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9242813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehollyleaf/pseuds/littlehollyleaf
Summary: Just how far is Dean willing to go to get out of Purgatory and back to Sam? Just how far is Castiel willing to let him?





	

**Author's Note:**

> A small contribution to the 'meanwhile in Purgatory' snippets doing the rounds on tumblr. Title from lyrics on the [Free to be... You and Me album,](http://www.metrolyrics.com/free-to-be-you-and-me-soundtrack-lyrics-show.html) because I'm currently viewing Purgatory as an extension of the separation between the boys that was tragically cut short after that episode in S05, and a continuation of Dean and Castiel's bonding over that time :)

**This land from where we are**

 

The thud of Dean's heart beats a painful rhythm in his chest, breath catching, thorny, in his throat. The figure standing, relaxed, like he's just ambled over from one side of a room to another, in the apex of the sigil Dean has scratched painstakingly into the dirt is the right shape, the right faintly ludicrous looming height and has the right maddening fop of dark hair cresting his head. But is it...?

This dark, evil place has tricked Dean more than once now with this same promise. Enough to make the hope taste like bile on his tongue. Bitter. Almost unwanted. Because every let-down hits like the cruel, biting lash of grief. Every failure re-opening the wound of his loss and leaving it gaping.

He's starting to think they might _never_ escape this nightmare of black-but-not-black, where the horror is not so much the pain like it was in Hell but the _waiting_. The _uncertainty_ of what's out there and what it plans to do.

The horror of Hell he'd understood and that meant he could withstand it. Until he couldn't. It's the lack of clarity down here that fills him with dread because it creeps, insidious, inside him. It leaves him jumpy, restless and exhausted. Not knowing if the inevitable attack will come today, tomorrow or is at their backs this very moment. Not knowing anything. Until his own thoughts, even his memories, are in equal doubt, trapping him in this wretched, eternal twilight. Forever in-between. In-between knowing and not-knowing. In-between life and death. Never near enough to one or the other to be completely _sure_.

Then the man across from him lifts his head, bemused eyes catching Dean's, and he smiles like the dawn.

"Dean!"

" _Sammy_ ," Dean sighs, forcing the name past the dry barrier of his tongue because it is, it _is_ , it _**is**_ **.** He knows it with every fibre of his being.

But even so he drops his eyes to check, gaze falling on the angel crouched at his feet.

Though he doesn't need sustenance this place has made even Cas look gaunt and thin. His coat hangs from bony shoulders like an afterthought, while his fist sticks out of an oversized sleeve like the skeletal hand of a reaper to grip his blade (the skeletal kind of reaper, that is, not the hot, curvy, feminine kind like Tessa).

As Dean watches, though, Cas' pale face flushes with triumph and something else. A bright, pained joy sparking new life into his sunken eyes.

"I've been trying to contact you for months, man!" Sam exclaims, leaning forward slightly but maintaining his position. Despite the accusatory air Dean answers the claim with a smile because he has confirmation now this is, without a doubt, his brother.

"Dude, I _know_ ," he breathes back with the same angry relief. "It's taken us this long to find a way to pick up the phone, okay? This mystical crap isn't as simple as punching a few buttons!"

The things he and Cas have done just to open this gateway, the blood they've spilled and the way they spilled it, will haunt Dean as long and deeply as anything Alistair had him do. But he pushes that aside for now.

"How long can you keep your side open?" Cas asks, focused. All business. Which is his way of dealing, Dean has come to realise. Coping with distracting emotions by ignoring them.

A far cry from the sensitive, carefree guy who used to run from conflict and talk to bees.

"Not long," Sam answers. "We've got minutes, that's all. I haven't found a way to get you out yet, but I'm working on it."

Cas just nods, curt and accepting. But Dean feels his pulse quicken and his chest constrict. He hadn't realised how badly he'd been holding out for something else.

"It's alright," Cas tells Sam. Calm. Like there's truth in what he's saying. "We have a way."

He shifts on the ground so he's kneeling, coat lifting up a moment so Dean catches a glimpse of hospital white. Crappy, loose-fitting hospital slacks Cas has been stuck with all this time because it turns out (shocker) there's no Goodwill in Purgatory.

Dean just has time to see Cas' knees smear grey with dirt and worse before Cas sweeps the coat around himself like a robe and tilts his head back to meet Dean's eyes.

"Now," Cas nods, holding up his blade. Dean takes it on instinct, moving on autopilot. The otherworldly steel rests heavy in his palm. "Be quick."

Then, like they'd agreed long before (when contacting Sam was still a passing thought within a dream) Cas bows his head. Cas spreads his wings.

They still don't know what it is about here, what strange quirk this otherwise dismal place holds, that allows Dean to _see_ , for the first time, what humans have always been denied. Cas thinks it has something to do with Purgatory not being physical in the strictest sense. It is a place of souls and essence and yet not of _their_ souls like Heaven and Hell. So the boundaries the two of them have previously been limited by don't apply in the same way. Or—

Something.

Whatever.

For Dean it's not something to explain, it's just something that _is_. Something to deal with.

Something to marvel at.

His breath catches again at every iridescent feather Cas unfurls. Although the days and nights here (as much as there _are_ days and nights) have stretched almost beyond endurance, it as not been long enough for this to get old. Dean suspects no length of time could manage that. Cas' wings are—indescribable. It's hard to comprehend how his gruff, stubbled friend could have hidden such pure and simple _beauty_ all this time. It's hard to reconcile the soft, delicate plumage with the fierce, grim-faced fighter Cas has proven himself time and again.

It's a side of Cas Dean never imagined. A vital part of a whole Dean is only now beginning to understand.

Glancing to a frowning, oblivious Sam to help set his resolve Dean grips the blade in his hand tighter. He lifts it over his head. Ready to bring it down and cut this stunning, shining part of his friend away.

He has to. He _has_ to. They might not get another chance. It's the only way they can get out of here. He can get out of here. The only way he can get back to Sam.

And hasn't he done so much worse for that already? There's nothing he wouldn't do for his brother. Nothing. Sam is his world. His meaning. His reason.

There was a time he wouldn't have hesitated. A time when he'd have cut and flayed without a thought and Castiel's compliance would have been optional at best. A time when an angel's life (or as good as) for Sam would have been fair trade.

Now his fingers slip, sweaty, round the handle of the sword. _Cas'_ sword, given freely.

He stares at the pale curve of Cas' neck. It's cleaner than it has any right to be in this rank, grubby world that isn't a world because, no matter how far he's strayed from the pearly gates, Cas is still an angel. Still something more than human with superpowers Dean can only dream of, the least of which is advanced personal hygiene.

An angel. Kneeling, submissive, in the dirt. Always willing to bleed for the Winchesters.

Dean tries another look at Sam whose gaze flicks between him and Cas. The warmth of their meeting is gone from his face now. Sam looks worried, the line of his shoulders bunching up as he tries to understand what's happening, eyes narrowing at the blade in Dean's hand.

He'd be angry, maybe, if he knew what this meant. But that's just Sam. He'd take the pain of all the world on himself if he could, just so no one else would have to bear it.

Basically _had_ , in fact.

Until Cas lifted that burden onto his own shoulders.

But that's how this works. Dean and Cas, they get that. They don't hope for the best because they both know, better than anyone, that there's always a price. If you want to survive there's always someone, somewhere, who has to get screwed over for it. Someone always has to pay.

"Dean," Cas whispers. Prompting.

Dean meets Sam's eye. Sees the longing behind his brother's uncertainty. The reason Sam hasn't asked yet. Because Dean _shouldn't be here_ when Sam isn't. No barrier should stand between them, not without their consent. If there's way to remedy this Sam _wants_ it as much as Dean _needs_ it. So for these few precious seconds of not knowing Sam will allow it. He'll put his suspicions aside and hold fast to his ignorance, leaving the guilt and recriminations for later.

Making this Dean's choice. Dean's alone.

He brings his hand down.

Rests the blade gently at his side.

"Keep looking, Sammy," he says, voice more level than he would have thought possible. "I'll see you soon."

It's a transparent lie, but almost comforting because of it. Like the ones Dean told when they were kids. _Of course you're safe, now go to sleep. That's not a monster that's the wind, dumbass. Yeah too Dad'll be here for Christmas._

Whether it's those memories filtering through or not Dean can't say but Sam smiles at him as he speaks. Full across his face, open-mouthed and proud.

"Okay," he nods. "Okay, I-"

He's gone so fast Dean almost doesn't notice, his brain doing a double take because with no trace to show Sam was ever there Dean doubts for a moment if he was.

Then a bundle of pissed off angel is crashing into him to put those doubts to rest.

"I thought we agreed! Why would you hesitate?" Cas demands, wings packed away again. He slams Dean back against the nearest tree and for a second all Dean's aware of is the pressure of Cas' arm across his chest, the prodding of splinters over the collar of his jacket.

"I—I couldn't," Dean gasps.

"We _agreed_ , Dean. We could have been out of this place by now!"

Never one to take an attack lightly Dean responds in kind, a wrath of his own flushing hot all over him, making him push. Cas steps back obligingly.

" _I_ could have been out of here," Dean snaps. " _You_ could have been dead!"

"A risk I was willing to take. So why -?"

"I changed my mind, okay? Sue me!"

"But Sam—?"

"This isn't about Sam—"

" _It's always about Sam._ "

It's not an accusation, Dean wouldn't stop for that, he'd just shout back louder. But Cas isn't angry about this, just earnest. Blue eyes vivid in the surrounding gloom. Wide and pleading. Wide with confusion. Like Dean just took life's rulebook and tore it to shreds, scattering the pages in the wind.

Silence reigns for a beat. Left too long it turns eerie, but Dean breaks it soon enough.

"Cas—no—" he chokes, as startled by what he's saying as the frowning angel before him.

But Sam's okay. Sam's _okay_. They've just had proof of that. He's grown (and _grown_ ), he's strong, he's smart, he's _safe_. He doesn't need Dean. Deep down Dean knows he's never needed Dean, not like Dean needs him. While Cas is here, adrift from everyone and everything he's ever known and fragile, despite his power.

"No," Dean says again, reaching out, shocked by how much he _means_ it. His hand finds Cas' shoulder and squeezes, eyes meeting his friend's and holding. Telling him they'll find another way, that they're in this together. Telling him—"It's not."

 

~ **_fin_** ~


End file.
